


A Game of Chess

by MesTiel



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:13:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MesTiel/pseuds/MesTiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian swallowed. “I...” Varric had moved behind Cullen and was now giving him silent thumbs up. “I was just wondering if you'd like to join me for another game of chess?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game of Chess

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick fic inspired by the lovely images below, posted by Tumblr user heypollyyy. I couldn't get over the way Dorian looked at Cullen. Could he be more obvious??!
> 
> There's no porn in this one, but who knows - could always add a "dedicated" chapter later on. ;-)

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2z7kd5f)

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=riyvpu)

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=dxkk1)

Dorian's first thought of Cullen was that the man was stuffy, grumpy, cynical, and overall undeserving of such a handsome face.

They didn't get along. Not really. In the deepest, darkest corners of Dorian's mind, he could admit to himself that the ex-templar intimidated him. The Commander was intelligent, watchful, and powerful. If they ever actually got into an altercation, Dorian wouldn't be too certain of his chances despite his considerable magical prowess.

Dorian found himself instantly on the defensive in Cullen's presence, his unease manifesting itself in thicker sarcasm and bigger hand gestures, his voice taking on an ever louder volume. 

In short he was becoming annoying, even to himself. It got to the point where Bull took him aside and shook him by the shoulders, hard, and instructed him to snap out of it. 

It wasn't until they played their first game of awkward – and nerve-wracking, on his part – chess that Dorian found one of Cullen's “buttons,” as it were.

The big bad Commander was utterly, and hilariously, allergic to any flirtatious comments directed his way. When Dorian declared that Cullen's good looks would be of no assistance in this match, Cullen flushed bright crimson and barely managed to finish the game without bolting for the woods.

“Do all ex-templars take hair styling so seriously?” Dorian asked the second time they played, inappropriately loud, trying to remain composed while simultaneously cheating. “Because your locks are to die for!” 

Cullen gaped at him from across the chessboard. “I- um...” He trailed off, cheeks flushing, then abruptly frowned as he realized what Dorian was doing. “So the Tevinter thinks he can cheat, right under my nose?”

Dorian relaxed marginally, as the comment was made without venom. In fact, unless his eyes were deceiving him, it appeared Cullen was almost-sort-of smiling. On the inside.

“I wouldn't dare!” Dorian exclaimed, hands clasped over his heart theatrically. 

Cullen won that round. Again. 

The next day, Dorian felt an urge to actively seek the Commander out and suggest another game. The first two times they had collided seemingly on accident, but this time Dorian felt confident enough to actually approach him.

Sort of.

“For Andraste's sake,” Varric grumbled somewhere below Dorian's elbow. “Just go and talk to him.”

“No.” Dorian crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet a little more firmly in the ground, eyeing Cullen warily from across the courtyard.

Varric sighed. “You've been lurking here for ages. Just go over there.” 

“He'll take one look at me and hit me with Dispel.” Dorian sniffed. “And then he'll murder me.”

Dwarves weren't known for their patience, which is how Dorian found himself being unceremoniously shoved toward Cullen. Varric only ceased once Dorian was thrust in between Cullen and the messenger he'd been engaged in serious-looking conversation with.

“Hello!” Dorian spoke loudly enough to scare the messenger off and to earn a glare from Cullen.

“Is there something you needed?” the man asked, for some reason not terribly pleased at being interrupted.

Dorian swallowed. “I...” Varric had moved behind Cullen and was now giving him silent thumbs up. “I was just wondering if you'd like to join me for another game of chess?”

For a moment it looked like Cullen was about to bark something about duties and the Inquisition, but as he regarded Dorian he seemed to think better of it. “Bit of a routine we're developing here,” he remarked, gentler now.

“Yes, well, Skyhold can get awfully dull sometimes.” Dorian lifted a hand and pretended to inspect his nails. Cullen's attention on him was doing things to his nerves.

Cullen chuckled. “Admit it, you're just interested in my good looks.”

Caught completely off guard, Dorian's mouth fell open. Cullen was smirking. 

This was it. Life or death. “Commander! I didn't know you had it in you! I'm impressed, truly.” Dorian bowed mockingly, then twirled the corner of his mustache as he righted himself. “But please, do not mistake – there are no better looks around here than mine.”

They played together every day after that. Dorian learned that Cullen did in fact possess a sense of humor, and would outright guffaw every now and then at particularly clever quips. Dorian became more relaxed in his presence, though a part of him remained inexplicably on edge.

Dorian looked on in silence as Cullen joined him at the table one day sans armor.

“Everything alright?” Cullen enquired, possibly noticing the uncharacteristic lack of shouting and flailing.

Dorian nodded stupidly. 

The game played out quietly, and then Dorian won.

Cullen leaned back in his seat. “Well done,” he praised, genuinely impressed.

“Hmm, the Commander isn't a sore loser,” Dorian mused. “I'm almost disappointed.”

After a beat, Cullen stood. “Come on,” he said with a smile, beckoning Dorian to follow. “Let me buy you a drink. Best to enjoy your victory while it lasts.” 

They sat at a fairly intimate corner table at the tavern, Cullen looking out of place but comfortable enough, while Dorian fidgeted like a hyperactive child. 

“Is something the matter?” Cullen asked between sips of ale. Very attractive sips of ale. He made that liquid rubbish actually look worthy.

“Shoved into a dark corner with a handsome face like yours for company does things to a man.” And as soon as he said it, it twisted something painfully inside him. 

Dorian missed the opportunity to comment on Cullen's subsequent blush, too busy downing his ale and contemplating his own words.

He bolted as soon as he realized the source of his discomfort – the words he had uttered in jest had actually been, all too painfully, true. 

Surely Cullen called out to him in alarm as he ran from the tavern, but Dorian was too busy reprimanding himself under his breath to notice. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

As they settled in for their chess game the next afternoon, Dorian swore to himself this would be the last one.

“Something on your mind?” Cullen spoke softly, contemplating Dorian as he moved a pawn into position.

Dorian looked at him with a sort of sad fondness. “You.” And he had seemingly lost any filter between mind and mouth. 

Cullen frowned, oddly vulnerable. “Have I done something to offend?”

“Commander--”

“It's _Cullen._ ”

Dorian sighed. He was very weary. Belatedly he noticed that they were both leaning slightly in toward each other.

Commander Cullen, famously not-gay Cullen, was asking to be addressed by his first name. This was an offer of friendship that Dorian could not possibly accept. He couldn't cope. 

How bloody long had Dorian been feeling this way, anyway? Hopeless, silly romantic. 

Dorian took a deep breath, absentmindedly twirling one of the pieces. The game was, for all intents and purposes, over.

“Cullen. I must stress that you have done nothing to offend. Not ever.” He chanced a glance up, meeting attentive brown eyes. “But I'm afraid this will have to be my last game.”

Cullen's eyes widened, and he visibly swallowed. Dorian held his breath. He never was good at confrontations, confessions, or any of that nonsense.

“Too tired of losing?” Cullen tried for humor, and Dorian would have returned his small smile if not for the lump in his throat. 

“I--”

“We could play something else.” Cullen was visibly nervous now, lips parted and looking for all the world like a small child in the process of abandonment. 

It was better to end this now. Better to show him. “Come with me,” Dorian whispered.

Dorian led them to his quarters, which consisted of nothing more than a small room large enough for a bed and haphazardly strewn piles of books. As soon as the door shut behind them, Dorian backed Cullen into it and pressed trembling lips to his.

“This,” Dorian hissed, kissing him again, wanting it to be rough but the trembling had spread to his whole body and made him weak. “This is why I can't play with you anymore.” He kissed him a third time then stepped back, ashamed in a way he hadn't been since he was a boy who believed his father's cruel words. He turned his back to Cullen to hide the hot tears falling silently down his cheeks, his throat burning with unvocalized sobs.

He wanted to crawl into bed and forget everything, forget those eyes and that scarred smile, the cheeks that blush so easily and the softness hidden just underneath the imposing exterior. 

“Dorian.” The voice came from behind, close to his neck where Cullen rested his forehead. Arms wrapped around his waist.

“Don't.” The proximity undid every last meager defense, and Dorian wept openly. “I don't need your pity.”

“Dorian--”

“Cullen, just _go!_ ”

The arms tightened around him. “You stubborn fool. Will you not hear me out?”

Dorian wiped his nose with the back of his arm. Disgusting. He was disgusting.

Cullen removed his arms from his waist in favor of grasping him, hard, by the shoulders and twirling him around to face him. “I want this,” he said, shaking him slightly, face at such close proximity that Dorian's eyes nearly crossed. “I want this.”

“I don't unders--”

“Shut up.” An order. Dorian barely had time to gulp, startled out of his sobbing, before Cullen crushed their mouths together. 

Dorian could only melt into him, like a damsel, as Cullen wound one arm around his waist as a hand cupped the back of his head and held him firmly in the kiss. Dorian heard himself mewl pathetically, utterly undone and unhinged. He gripped Cullen's face with both palms, drinking him in while simultaneously using him as an anchor against the dizziness.

When they parted Cullen's breathing was unsteady, eyes urgent and beseeching as they searched his face. Dorian closed his eyes and rested their foreheads together, fingers stroking Cullen's hair. He had no words.

“Will you play with me tomorrow?” Culled murmured, breath hot on Dorian's lips.

“Yes.” The word was an exhalation, barely above a whisper. It was a commitment, a giving of self that would have frightened Dorian back to Tevinter if it were for anyone but Cullen.

_Cullen._


End file.
